Not Really Your Color
by PaxtonProphet
Summary: (response to an anonymous prompt) Sniper makes a bet with spy and the stakes are pretty high.


_PROMPT: Write a TF2 short story using one of the hats from the game in a practical and... non-ridiculous manner._ _ **Challenge accepted. (ALSO: This is Post MvM)**_

* * *

A steady dip in the sun's decent began across the badlands, a pillar of smoke whisking across their arid plane. The summer's usual potent heat was beginning to give way to the autumns subtle, yet very minor, cooling. Winter nights would bring more cooling across the dust bowl, below zero temperatures, in fact, which would, in turn, force many of the area's residents into the warmer practices such as staying indoors more often and curling up with a nice fire. Sniper, however... he had his van. No, it wasn't cozy, nor in any way warm, but it was his and it was private. That's all he needed. It was, at the very least, something to return to beyond the soulless walls of the RED base looming high above Tue Fort itself.

The bushman slowly slung his rifle about his shoulder, picking up his favorite mug with his free left hand. From his nest there was a shattered view of the reddening horizon, one which would always etch itself into his mind for hours on end. The United States was so... backwards... Still... who was he to complain. It was the Earth's problem and not his to mope about. With his small collection of belongings together and his last cigarette snuffed into a damp spot on the floor, Sniper turned tail to his to-be-forgotten nest and began down a rickety flight of stairs which protested with every additional pound. The Aussie highly doubted that the Heavy could traverse the building with such ease as he could. It was, in fact, rather old. He reached the last few steps and was apt to simply hop over them, landing at the bottom with a satisfying splay of dust. With one hand on the door, he went to push out into the fray of fleeing sunlight... But stopped... If he were an animal, his ears would've done an about face. There was a tinge in the air... a familiar scent... Expensive cologne... His palm ghosted the handle.

"Over-steppin' yer bounds there a lil', spook. I don't much like bein' stalked." His ears became attuned to a mechanical crackle and metallic flick of a silver cigarette lighter. The Frenchman retorted with a soft grunt.

"Not stalking, mon ami. Testing something."

"Testing wot?"

"How rusty you have gotten. You have been sitting cozy in your nest for many weeks now, uncontested and un-needing of any sort of care towards your senses. You noting my presence just now simply verifies my suspicions." A deep scowl broke across the bushman's usual solid expression. "I have been around here and there all day. Either you are, indeed, rusty, or... I am just better." He gave a mere flick of his hand before walking past his ally and grabbing the rusted handle of the door. The bushman's steel eyes narrowed from behind his aviators before the dog inside him bit back with a vengeance.

"Oh, please. I could do th' same tuh you inna heart beat." The gloved hand stopped.

"Vraiment? You honestly think so, fou?" His brown raised ridged and inquiring.

"Aye. I dun wear no fru-fru smells on me. I dun wear fancy bloody heels. Best'a all, I dun smoke me lungs out every ten minutes. I can control my addiction." A broad smile etched itself into Spy's features as he turned and locked eyes with the taller mercenary. He placed his hands behind his back and brought an air about himself that screamed everything the bushman hated.

"Care to wager, then, mon ami?" The Aussie's brow arched high over the rims of his aviators.

"Explain..."

"Well, I will wager that you cannot evade my attention from sunrise to sun-set tomorrow. If you do, I commit whatever act you force upon me. If I win..." He sat in thought for a moment, thumbing his chin with exaduration. His silver eyes darted from the back wall of the stair-well to Sniper for some mant minutes. His brain was going through the cruelest of his torments, no doubt. He then did a double- take, glaring right at Sniper's hat. With a swift hand, he snatched the item from atop his collegue's head and kept it at a considerable distance when he reached for it. "If I win, you must style that mess of hair any way I see fit."Sniper's hands flew to his exposed scruff, teeth grinding for but a moment before regaining a slight composure. Spy's pleased expression was enough to expell s qualms... and force him into, undoubtibly, one of the dumbest choices he'd ever make. "Do we have a deal?" asked the Frenchman, holding out one gloved hand.

"I can make you do anythin'... if I win?"

"But of course. It is only fair, no?" Sniper gruffly clasped his hand around the Spy's much smaller appendage.

"Fine, it's a deal... IF, when I win..." there came a smile so equally devious to spy's that it almost made the rogue look away in submission, "You take of yer mask n' fronta' the whole team." The jerking was expected, the spy's hand flying away so quickly that it left a small red mark on Sniper's palm.

"Je ne pense pas! Je ne aurais jamais! If you think-"

"What happened to all that confidence and Bravado, now, spook? 'fraid yer gonna lose to me? I thought you were bettah!" The silence and look of astonishment was gratifying enough, as short lives as it was.

"Fine..." Spy finally responded. "It is a deal."

* * *

A morning gust wafted through the usual crack in the camper window, rolling a soft hand through the curtains and across his face; a natural wake up call, he liked to say, though it came earlier than his internal clock. Oh well. Couldn't hurt to get up early. He slid down from his 'cubby', taking care not to hit his head as his boots planted on the floor. His camper was, indeed, a small space, void of any actual elbow room in his reguard, but it was home. He'd managed quite a few years with it, findind little want or need for simple luxuries beyond his coffee and cigarettes. Granted, those weren't the best luxuries, health-wise, but they staved him from his wories better than any.

Sniper gave a stiff groan as he rolled his shoulders and walked to his minor counter space for a spot of coffee in his prized "#1 Sniper" mug, but stopped as he lightly ghosted his finger-tips along the handle of the pot. Stuck upon the rim of it was a brightly colored sticky note, a short messaged scribbled on it in his writing. ' _bet_ ' His mind was suspended in but a moment of confusion before recalling the events of the previous evening. "Oh yeh... Can't have none'a me coffee... Bloody hell, today is gonna be rough." His hand dropped to his side, tossing his carton oh cigarettes on the counter next to his mug. ' _None'a these, either_ ' He thought in dismay. Anything of the sort would give him a distinct smell... a Very notable smell.

Wearily, he dressed and cautiously peeked out into the hardly-lit badlands. It was bare, voided in nothingness beyond the RED base; no one in site, but that didn't exactly mean the there wasn't anyone there, so he sat and he listened... No electronic fuzz. He leaned over the window, bringing a deep intake of air through his nostrals... no cigarettes, no expensive cologne. After some few more minutes, he deemed it safe to exit his camper and skulk into the rear entrance of the base. Beyond it was a long corridor, dotted with the occational stay-room for any to-be hire or guest, the ladder being too few and far inbetween to concern themselves with the upkeep on the spare rooms.

His traversing of said corridor was slow, at best. He wacthed, listened, and even sniffed at the air around him in expectation, anticipating that, at any moment, Spy would appear before him, claim victory, and force him to desicrate his appearence in any shamefull way he saw fit. If that wasn't bad enough, the other Mercinaries would surely find the upmost amusment in jeering at their disgraced team-mate. Thankfully, however, he reached the end of the corridor uneventfully and peeked into the mess-hall, a place that Spy usually avoided. Low and behold, as Sniper suspected, the Frenchman was altering his behavior just for their wager. He sat at the far end of the room in a misplaced wooden chair, a cigarette in his right hand and the copy of Shakespeare's works in the other. "Smug fucker," sniper hissed. "You arn't gettin' me, mate." He could do without breakfast for today. He needed to get onto the battle field before the rest, anyway.

* * *

The drive was quiet, contemplating over stratagy, head-scratching and inwardly beating himself over a plan. His most satasfying answer was to send the Frenchman on a wild goose chance, albeit a short one in case Spy caught on. He could do it, honestly needing to be more clever than his rival, something, admittingly, difficult. Still... Spy knew his co-worker's habits...He could leave a less than obvious "bread trail", notable to Spy, but in a false, attempted concealment. Small things, things spy associated with Sniper. As he arrived at that day's battlegrounds, his plan came into fruition. He saw so many possibilities, but he needed to be subtle, yet obvious, and not too much so. On paper, it made little sense, but he understood. Some of these "cumbs" would be rather... undesireable, however.

Sniper shifted through his pockets, hoping that his usual forgetfulness had gotten the better of him. "Ah, there you are." He pulled out a near-crumpled cigarette. Placing it in his mouth, he lit a fag and ignited the end of the 'cancer stick' before giving it man eratic drags. They were too fast and nearly caused his stomach to exhume what little it contained from the previous night's supper. It helped forward his goal, however, reducing the cigarette to but a stub which he tossed aside, next to a stack of tires, grinding it into the dirt with the heel of his boot.

After recovering from a slight nausia, he continued deeper into the field, sharpening his Kukri on a telephone pole off to the side, tucked away in a manner that one would miss it at first glance; someone other that spy, that is. Nance had an eye for detail. Next, he fired off a round from his rifle, kicking the spent shell off to the side before tossing a used match or two off to the side.

Finally, he made his way up to the previous day's nest, perching himself in the rafters over his usual sitting spot. He left some sniper rounds laying about in the lazy manner he usually did with his spare ammo and even tossed another match to seal the deal. They were very few, but, in the heat of battle, spy would need some time to discover the trail and play right into the Bushman's palm... if it worked, that is. Spy's mask was a serious thing. He'd stop at nothing to find the Australian in his own, gradual, way. After at least another hour, the war siren sounded and a joined battle cry resinated from both sides of the battle field. From a break in the roof, Sniper could catch a quick glimpse of spy leaving the re-supply before vanishing with an electronic wir. Now, all he had to do was wait, albeit in pins and needles. With a cautious eye, he waited, scoped in on the placement of the first sign. It was agony to wait, doubt resinating in his mind. Long moments passed, then half an hour. Did he honestly miss it? Was he too caught up in his actual job? Sniper's questions were quickly answered when his team mate materialized right before his eyes, crouching down and inspecting the discarded cigarette.

"Common, mate. Take the bait. Take the bait..." Then, slowly, Spy stood, smirked, and shook his head, tossing the cigarette aside and vanishing into the wind. Weather this gesture was in discovery of the deception or a muse at his team-mate's "insolence", Sniper was unsure, but he moved his scope to the second step, reguardless. His stomach, oddly, felt queezy. Those feelings where quelled, however, an hour later when Spy stopped to examine the marked-up pole. "Bloody hell, he's actually buying it..." His plan was working. It was actually working. He was fooling the slyest devil Mann Co. had ever seen. The sheer fact was enough to send his mind into a joyful tail-spin. Still, he hadn't gotten away with it yet. There was an entire other half to his plan to exicute. It was another two hours before the next part was out into action and almsot missed. Spy was running along with Medic, helping him find the BLU spy when he kicked up one of Sniper's matches. He plucked up the item, waved Medic off with a hasty excuse, then vanished once more. Next time Sniper saw the Frenchmen, the final part of the plan would be played.

Hours passed... the battle wore on. Spy was nowhere to be seen. Still, sniper waited and waited, watching as the sun lowered passed the peak of its journy towards the horizon. Finally, as the battle was near towards its end, RED meeting almost un-challenged victory, Spy appeared mid-battle, helping Endgineer out of the dirt. It was finally time. Sniper righted his rifle into the air, took a deep breath, and fired one shot. The familiar blast of the high-powered weapon echoed like thunder, something Spy could not ignore. The Frenchman's head shot up, glaring at the nest as he gave a satasfied grin, as he disappeared once more. Sniper adjusted himself as he rushed to place a small note on the window sill. Afterwords, he scrambled back up into the rafters, out of sight, and waited. Spy didn't keep him waiting long. The Frencman strode into the nest, but stopped dead when he found it empty. His eyes darted around the room, turing this way and that, looking for some indicator that Sniper was there. He found nothing. He didn't even notice the matches. He did, however, find the note, something Sniper was proudest of.

 _'Thanks for stopping buy for a visit, Spook, but I couldn't attend. Apologies. Hopefully we can talk face-to-face later._

 _-Sniper'_

"He played me..." Spy's voice was meloncholic, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. He was genuinely astonished. "I fell for his little game! Merde tout! Son jeu stupide! Je ne peux pas croire que je suis tombé pour elle!" Spy's english was entirely abandoned in a fit of, what Sniper guessed was, cursing. He kicked random objects about the nest, breaking a crate, even. The show was quite ammusing and Sniper was getting quite a kick out of it. Finally, the fit stopped, and Spy pressed his forhead to the window sill, still muttering a string of curses on french. Sniper looked to the sky. It was sunset. He was so close to winning. Then, there was a soft electronic wur. The bushman's eyes grey wide as the BLU spy slipped around the doorway and quietly made his way over to his RED counterpart. Spy didn't even lift his head, he just continued his cursing, too absorbed in his failure to notice.

"Bloody Hell..." Sniper whispered. He couldn't let the devil get away with it and he knew it. The Aussie hopped down, hitting the floor with a dull thud before, a split second later, driving his Kukri through the spine of the enemy. Spy whipped around, seeing him just as the enemy spy crumpled to the floor. A look of surprised painted his face before looking back out the window and forming a wicked grin. He regain a slight composure, putting his hands behind his back and glaring with satasfaction at his co-worker.

"Je suis désolé, bushman. Though I am... impressed by this elaborate ruse, I am deathly afraid that you have still lost," One finger gestured to the image of the sun, dipped low but not yet touching the horizon. Sniper snorted, wiping the blood from his kukri and placing it back in its holster. When he looked back to spy, however, he was surprised to find one of the man's expensive cigarettes being offered with a a genuine smile. "Pas de sentiments forts." Sniper wasn't sure what that meant, but, somehow, he knew it was friendly.

* * *

Looking in the mirror, Sniper's face flushed with the idea of his team seeing such a hair-cut. Atop his head was shaved a huge mohawk. On top of that, it was also dyed pink. Of all things Spy could make him do to himself, not mention the fact that the nance took his hat. He couldn't hide it... He had to face it head on then and there. He exited the shower area, turning right and walking strait for the messhall. "This is gonna be a rough few months..." he grumbled, the rumbling voices from the messhall meetings his ears. From the arch door-way he spotted some empty tables and was near to walking into the light of the massive room, but something stopped him. Some... unseen force had taken hold of his left sleeve. Sniper glared at the spot where he felt it and a gloved had slowly appeared there. "What more do'ya want, spook?" he growled. Spy walked around to meet sniper head on and smiled softly, placing the confiscated brown cap atop his collegue's head. "What're yo-"

"Pink is not really your color, mon ami. Besides, this is for MY enjoyment. Not theirs." The smile only widended, but remained genunine.


End file.
